


in the confines of fear

by allisonmartined



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonmartined/pseuds/allisonmartined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinksi has been a rookie for approximately 27 weeks and he has yet to figure out the exact schedule Hale's bar is open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the confines of fear

**Author's Note:**

> A Rookie Blue fusion thing. No knowledge of Rookie Blue is actually needed. They're all cops, basically.

Stiles Stilinksi has been a rookie for approximately 27 weeks and he has yet to figure out the exact schedule _Hale's_ bar is open. 

 

Scott and Allison are back at the precinct, probably making out in a closet while Lydia cons Jackson into doing her paperwork. 

 

It's been two hours since his shift ended, two hours since he's given his statement, two hours since he walked out of those doors without changing out of uniform, and four timeless hours since shots rang out through a warehouse, two rounds emptied from his sidearm. 

 

Now, he's got his head resting against the glass of the window, the gold lettering of _Hale's_ against his forehead. 

 

 

 

A body crashes into his side, hip checking him and he groans.  

"Hey, Officer", Laura purrs.  

"No", he says. 

She laughs, "Come on Stilinksi, let's get you a brew.  Or something stronger? A scotch maybe?" She wiggles her eyebrows. 

"I hate you", he grumbles with exactly no enthusiasm.  

"That's the spirit. Now drink up and tell me your woes."

 

 

 

On the average day, which is every time Stiles sees her, Laura is decked out in dark jeans, shoes that could kill, and a lacy tank top under a thin leather jacket.  She wears her hair up in a ponytail, hoop earrings or dangling spikes framing her face.  All in all, Laura Hale has the look of either a master assasin or a biker goddess.  He's not sure which he prefers, honestly. 

 

 

 

"Long day? "  She asks with too much precision, like she’s digging the truth out of him with just the sound of her voice and the steel in her eyes.  Stiles groans and the spikes dangling from her ears lurch dangerously as she leans toward him with an uptick of an eyebrow.  He downs the scotch in front of him with a wince and shoves the glass across the bar. 

 

It all started with Derek Hale, as most things in his life did. 

 

He and Derek had been following a supposed arms dealer, standard tail basically, nothing too dangerous, when Gascoigne, the arms dealer in question, pulled up to an abandoned warehouse.  Arms dealer, warehouse, they knew they should look into it, so Derek called it in, and they followed him in.  In retrospect, they should have been expecting the guns.  In the end, there were three dead.  But he and Derek were still standing, so that was something.

 

 

And now, now he was here.

 

 

 

"Well shit, Stilinski", Laura breathes and then after a beat, "Where the fuck is my brother anyway? "  Stiles shrugs noncommittally, hell if he knows.

 

"Stiles!"  An all too familiar voice calls across the bar, before he is being all but tackled by blonde curls and long limbs.

"Erica", he mutters into her hair.  She grins, and waves her hand above her head, calling for Laura.  Laura raises an eyebrow and leans over the counter, eyeing Erica,

"Let me guess. Tequila. Shots."  Erica grins seductively, biting on the corner of her lip.

"You know me so well, Hale", she positively purrs.  Laura smirks before walking away to retrieve the booze.  Erica turns to him, fast and exact, like an animal zeroing in on its prey. 

"Hey, loser, I heard you almost died on me." 

Stiles rolls his eyes, "You’re just jealous because I got an arms dealer, and what did you get?" 

She huffs, curling her hands around her hair.  "Domestic disturbance that turned out to be a cat." 

Stiles blinks, "How--?"

Erica shakes her head, "Don’t. Even. Ask. Oh, shots!"

 

 

 

Somewhere between the Erica-Reyes-Cure-For-All-Ills (tequilia shots until you can’t feel your toes) and his bed, Stiles thinks he must of been hit over the head with something heavy and sharp because holy shit his head hurts. 

 

Allison is sitting on his bed, peering at him over the rim of her Hawkeye coffee cup. 

"Watching people sleep is really creepy, Al." 

She hums sleepily into her cup, throwing her legs over his. 

"Scott has decided the waffle iron is possessed by demons again and I can’t deal right now.  I have a shift in like thirty minutes." 

He huffs a laugh into his pillow.

"And", she continues, "I know yesterday was awful for you and I just wanted to", she waves her hands around a bit, "catch bases with you".

Stiles smiles, "Touch." 

She frowns adorably, "What?" 

He shakes his head, "Never mind. I’m fine. Fine-ish.  Totally fine-ish."  

She’s frowning at him and he sighs, "I swear, Al, I’m good. Except", he groans, "for this fucking hangover.  What the fuck, why is there a fucking mariachi band playing in my head." 

Allison slides off the bed, "A) that doesn’t even make sense B) it’s the tequila, I am literally shocked neither you or Reyes isn’t suffering from alcohol poisoning right now, you guys drank like two bottles and C)I have to go, make sure Scott doesn’t burn down the building."  

He moves his hand in the vaguest excuse for a salute ever and she smiles, carding her hand through his hair as she moves past him.

 

 

 

 

Stiles just decides to throw away the waffle iron.

 

 

 

 

It’s not until he’s lying in bed that night, that it all kind of floods back.  Shots and blood and yelling, the thump of bodies hitting the pavement, the heat of the gun, the grip of Derek’s hand around the nape of his neck.  He can’t stop seeing faces, can’t stop the tremble in his fingers.  There’s a rap-rap-rap and he thinks maybe it’s his heart before he realizes it’s the door. 

It’s a slip and slide, lock and snick, of the door’s locks and then Derek is there, temple resting against the door jam.  

"Hey", Stiles breathes. 

Derek steps in,  "Hey.  Laura thinks I’m an idiot." 

Stiles tilts his head, "Hmm, are you?" 

Derek lets outs a shaky breath, an almost hysterical laugh, "Yeah, yeah." 

And then there’s lips ghosting against his. Almost, almost. 

"I could of lost you,"  someone says, it doesn’t matter.  Someone kisses and someone grabs the other’s shirt.  "I’m here", someone says, it doesn’t matter.

 

 

 

"I don’t think the bar _has_ hours", Derek, later, laughs into his shoulder, "I’m pretty sure Laura just does whatever the fuck she wants."  Stiles thinks that sounds like a pretty good idea.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Allison's Hawkeye cup probably looks something like [this](http://www.zazzle.com/hawkeye_a_coffee_mugs-168748505272475246), but in my head it looks more like [this](http://www.whitehotroom.com/2013/04/30/hawkweek-diy-aw-coffee-no/). I'm aware that Allison has probably seen the Avengers, but hasn't read the Hawkeye comics, but a girl can dream. I just have feelings about Allison Argent and Kate Bishop, negl.


End file.
